Castiel Returns
by caremkefo
Summary: After Castiel returned and Dean nearly ran him over, he and Sam took the injured angel back to the bunker. Set between 8.21 The Great Escapist and 8.22 Clip Show.


Castiel let out a pained grunt on impact. He wasn't in the Impala - it was too hard. He could smell exhaust fumes and asphalt; hear an owl in the trees. He was outside. He opened his eyes just in time to see two bright lights heading towards him, and it suddenly hit him that he was lying in the middle of the road. He was too weak to move, and when he heard the squeal of tyres as the car braked and swerved he closed his eyes and prayed.

"Cas?"

_Dean_. Relief washed over him. He'd misjudged his landing, but not by much.

"A little help here?"

Dean stood and stared until Castiel's words eventually worked their way into his brain and then he was by Cas's side in an instant.

"What happened, buddy?"

"Naomi, she…" He winced as Dean tried to help him stand. "Then Crowley—"

"Son of a bitch." He looked at his brother, hovering by the passenger door and trying not to look he was using the car to support himself. "Sam, are you okay to drive?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Sam said weakly.

"Sam?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," he said, much stronger this time.

"Okay."

Dean helped Castiel into the back seat and climbed in after him, to which Castiel protested, "Dean, you don't need to—"

"Shut up."

Castiel fell silent with a long sigh, and leaned back against the seat. His side was aching, and he tried to keep a straight face while Sam took them wherever they were going. Something wasn't right. He'd got the bullet out, so he should be healing. He could feel the tension radiating off of Dean whose hand, he just realised, was gripping his wrist tightly through his coat. Dean needed him. Dean needed to know that he'd be alright.

"I'll be fine, Dean."

But Dean said nothing, and Castiel swallowed. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps there was something else.

* * *

They finally arrived, and Dean at first looked torn over who to help into the bunker. Castiel was swaying where he stood, and Sam was unsteady on his feet. Castiel wondered if Dean knew just how much Sam was hurting right now. He took a step towards the door, thinking that Dean would go to Sam, but then his legs gave out from underneath him and both Sam and Dean rushed to his side.

"I'm fine," he said, though he was unable to get back on his feet. Why was the ground so unsteady? Were they having an earthquake? It didn't feel like any earthquake he'd ever experienced. It was almost like that time he'd gotten drunk for the first time.

"No you're not _fine_," Dean told him. "Sam—"

"I'm fine, Dean. I'll get the door. You get Cas."

Dean looked unhappy when Sam moved towards the bunker, but turned to help Cas.

"Dean, I don't need your—"

The _help_ was lost as he collapsed once again, only for Dean to scoop him up in his arms.

"Not a word," he insisted sternly, before carrying him inside.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the sight of his brother carrying an angel like a newly wed bride over the threshold, but bit back any cheeky comments he might have thought of making because he knew that look on Dean's face: it was a painful mix of anger, hurt, and love. He'd seen that exact same look when Dean found out about the demon blood.

"Welcome home, Cas," he said instead, knowing that it should be Dean's line but also knowing that Dean wouldn't say it.

"I can heal myself," Castiel protested, as Dean eased him into a chair.

"Bullshit. You can barely stand because you're losing so much blood," Dean snapped, a little too harshly. "There's some serious mojo going on here. What got you?"

"A bullet—"

"A bullet?" Dean echoed sceptically. "Dude, I shot you when we first met and you didn't even flinch."

"A _bullet_," Castiel repeated through clenched teeth, "made from a melted down angel blade."

Dean's mouth formed a silent 'o' as the brilliance of that idea sank in. Then a horrid thought struck him.

"Cas," he said thickly. "Are you… dying?" His vision was blurring slightly and he hoped that Cas wouldn't see the tears he was trying to blink back. Cas had left and Dean had hated him for it, but now he was back and Dean didn't want to lose him again. Not so soon. And not like this.

"No."

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Good."

"But it's not healing, so there is a chance that there is still some part of the bullet inside me," Castiel said, eventually conceding that he might need some help.

Dean nodded confidently. Bullet wounds were something he could handle. "Okay. Sam, do we still have—" But Sam was already holding out his dad's old army field surgeon's kit to him. "I didn't even know if we still had that."

"Rainy day," Sam shrugged. "You need a hand?"

"No, I've got this. You go, get some rest."

Dean looked back as his brother made his way to his bedroom, clenching a fist when he stumbled. When he heard the bedroom door close he turned back to Castiel, who had been watching him the whole time.

"Sam is strong."

"I know."

"He'll get through this."

"Oh, you have the ability to see the future, now?" Dean spat. "That might have come in handy a few weeks ago but oh, wait. You left."

"Dean, I did what I had to—"

"Don't. Just don't," Dean said, as he slipped a finger into Castiel's wound and poked around.

Castiel looked at Dean, who was doing his best not to look at him, and wished that he knew what to say to make it right.

"I just don't need to hear you tell me that Sammy's going to be okay, because…" But Dean couldn't get the words past his lips. Couldn't say, _because what if he won't be?_

Castiel obediently held his tongue, because he knew that Dean wouldn't accept his empty reassurances. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Sit still."

"It hurts."

Dean frowned. "It _hurts_? I thought angels didn't feel pain?"

"It's made from an angel blade, Dean. Of course it hurts," he said, not meaning to sound quite so snappy.

Dean pulled a face and started poking around again, more gently this time. "Sorry," he muttered when Castiel flinched.

"I think you've found it," he choked out.

Dean needed to carefully feel his way around because couldn't see a damned thing for Castiel's grace was still shining through, and Dean was suddenly reminded of just _what_ Cas was. Forget angels and vessels and 'multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent' – Castiel was like a star. He was a burning mass of heavenly light crammed into the body of a man, and he was beautiful. Dean was in awe of Castiel when he saw him like this, even when he was pissed at him.

Castiel looked around the room as Dean got to work, thinking that if he kept his mind distracted he might be able to distance himself from the pain. He could sense that it was secure, but they might want to add angel warding to protect themselves from angels like Naomi. He opened his mouth to suggest it, but then closed it again. Dean was smart. Dean knew that. Dean had deliberately _not_ warded against angels because he wanted Cas to be able to find them. To find _him_.

A metallic clink told him that Dean had found the bullet fragment and removed it. He looked at the piece of metal on the steel tray and was surprised at how much he could be weakened by something so small.

"Just like _Superman Returns_," Dean commented. "How do you feel?"

"Better," he admitted, not surprised that he didn't understand Dean's reference. "Thank you."

"Good. I'm going to bed."

"Dean—"

"I'll see you in the morning, Cas," he said abruptly. He left Castiel sitting in the middle of the bunker and only once he'd shut his bedroom door behind him and snuggled under the covers did he mutter, "If you're still here," under his breath.

But Castiel heard those four words, and vowed that _nothing_ could make him leave before morning.


End file.
